“Fuck off Josh, I’m not seeing him. You’re acting crazy. I’ve a good mind to get you sectioned.”
He fumes. “Oh yes, I bet your little fuck buddy from work would love that too.”
“What so, I’m fucking everybody in Sydney now am I? You idiot,” I yell.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” he yells and, that’s it, I snap. That is the last straw—I no longer have any control. I slap him hard across the face, the sound echoing back as it hits the buildings on either side of us. He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me, his fury erupting as mine has. The others quickly step in and break us up, pushing us apart. I glare at him and he glares at me.
“Stay the fuck away from me!” I yell.
He folds his arms. “Now, who’s flattering themselves, you couldn’t pay me enough to touch you.” I don’t know why I’m shocked he just said that, but I am.
I shake my head at him. “Nice Josh, nice. You must be so proud of the person you’ve turned into. You were a lot nicer when you were poor. What a mean pretentious prick you’ve turned into.” I turn and storm off. In the distance I can hear Cam and Will giving Josh a hard time about what he has said to me. The girls quickly catch up and we join the cab line. We hear Cam yell out, “Sorry girls,” as they get into the back of a limo waiting outside the arena for them. It drives off. We all stay silent for a few minutes.
“That went well,” Abbie smiles. “Isn’t it a shame he can talk—he’s so pretty with his mouth closed.” We all burst out laughing.
“Seriously Abbs, I love you” I smile.
I’m warm and crumpled and sleepy, my eyes refusing to open. Why is she so frigging early? My doorbell buzzes again. “Go away, I’m too tired,” I mumble into my pillow. BUZZZ BUUUUUUZZZZZZZZZZZZ BZ, BZ, BZ, BZ, BZ. It’s still pitch black in my bedroom—those expensive drapes were worth every cent. It buzzes again. For Pete’s sake. Alright. I pull my weary ass out of bed and stagger to the foyer. I hit the door button to unlock my front door as I head to the bathroom for my morning wee. I hear Bridget come in and I instantly yell to her “Why are you up so early? Did you wet the bed? Make me some coffee, bitch, and you can forget it. I’m not going to Mum and Dad’s this morning.” I look at my watch on the bathroom vanity. “Bridget, it’s only 7.30 am. Have you gone frigging mad?” I know why she’s here so early. She thinks I’m a donkey on the edge and, to be honest, she could be onto something. I feel scattered. She doesn’t reply. I hear the teaspoon hit three times on the side of the coffee cup. I waltz out of my bathroom while stretching and yawning. I feel like shit. I open my eyes from my stretch to see Joshua standing in my lounge room with two cups of coffee. What the.
“Joshua…what are you doing here?” He looks me up and down and smirks.
“Nice pjs.” Oh my fuck. I look down to realise I am wearing odd flannelette pyjamas. Check bottoms and Bunny top and to cap off the whole alluring look the buttons are done up in the wrong button holes. I scratch my head in embarrassment, only to feel my hair standing up on end like the Paddle–pop Lion. I bet I have raccoon mascara eyes too. I must look a treat. I’m too busy being mortified and self–conscious to remember how mad I am at him. I stay silent, waiting for him to say something, while praying for the earth to swallow me up.
“Um,” he shuffles on his feet and passes me my coffee.
“Thanks,” I whisper as I take it. He takes a sip while carefully choosing his words.
“I…I just came to apologise for last night.” I stay silent.
“What exactly are you apologising for?” I ask as I raise my eyebrows.
He thinks about his answer as he rubs his chin. “The insinuations,” he drops his head in shame.
“The insinuation I’m a whore,” I whisper.
He hangs his head. “Yes.”
I sit down and gesture for him to sit down, but he stays standing. “Josh, why are you so angry with me?”
“I’m not.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Are you going to continue to lie to me?”
He narrows his eyes. “Stay the hell out of my head, Natasha. I didn’t come here to be psychoanalysed.”
“What did you come here for?”
“I told you, to apologise.”
“Is that for my benefit or your conscience?”
“Stop it, you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” I snap.
“The psychology shit,” he frowns. “Just forget it.” He puts his coffee down on my table so fast it spills. “I knew there was no point.”
Oh shit, he’s going. I have to stop him.
“Josh wait, I’m sorry. I’m just really mad at you.” He stops and turns.
“For what?” He puts his head on an angle.
“I saw you last week at the strip joint.” He rubs his chin again, ah my first sign he’s uncomfortable. I’m really not playing fair—I’m totally psychoanalysing him.